


Hearts, Necks, and Other Things That Break

by ems



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-26
Updated: 2010-10-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 22:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ems/pseuds/ems
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something about Merlin...'s neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts, Necks, and Other Things That Break

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Oh God, this is so hideously unbeta-ed, and it contains an ill-advised flashback scene and Arthur with a temperature and I don't even know. It was written with love, anyway, and that's all that counts, right?  
>  **Author's Notes:** Written for [curlybeach](http://curlybeach.livejournal.com), who is probably the loveliest, sweetest, wee bundle of joy you could ever come across, as part of the [Spring Swap](http://community.livejournal.com/merlin_love/9134.html).

Merlin has turned out to be an okay sort of servant really, Arthur thinks, despite constant evidence to the contrary. Yes, there has been a lot of... _weird stuff_ happen since he arrived, which Arthur tries not to think about too much, and yes, whenever they get attacked Merlin mostly seems to stand around like a baffled deer, just waiting to be slaughtered -- which is quite irritating and frankly a bit of an inconvenience, and really Arthur's sort of amazed that Merlin has managed to survive at all -- and yeah, he definitely does not treat Arthur with the deference befitting the future King of Camelot, but, y'know, other than the minor issue of near-daily acts of insubordination bordering on treason, Merlin's pretty alright.

Oh hell, okay. Okay. So Arthur should have fired him _months_ ago. Actually, he should have _banished_ him, if not had him executed -- the idiot has dropped the King's son and heir out a _window_ , for Christ's sake. And yet he hasn't so much as punished him (well, unless you count sticking him in the stocks as punishment, which Arthur barely does). If any of his knights behaved that way, they'd be out of Camelot before they could say "but I look so fetching in red!". Arthur plans on being a firm but fair ruler, not a bloody pushover who lets some jumped-up servant boss him around.

Something needs to be done, Arthur decides, and he is definitely the man to do it. Absolutely. Today. Just... after Merlin's finished dressing him.

* * *

It all started, really, with that day Arthur had that hideous achey, fluid-leaking, coughy kind of a thing. His father had fussed and Gwen had petted and Morgana had teased, and when his achey, fluid-leaking, coughy kind of a thing turned into a raging case of fever, Gaius had administered potions galore which all tasted vaguely of pond water as the rest of them grew more and more hysterical, but Merlin? Merlin had been calm and still and capable in ways Arthur would have sworn were impossible. It was Merlin's cool, slender hands that had smoothed his forehead, Merlin's voice that had been the only one not to aggravate his pounding headache, and Merlin's smile that was the first thing he managed to contextualise in three nightmare-filled days and nights. And whilst everyone around him hadn't stopped for a moment, had bustled to and fro with water and medicine and that damn endless pacing beside his bedside, Merlin had been like a lighthouse in a storm -- strong and still and endlessly comforting. Whenever Arthur had been conscious enough to focus on something other than the pain, he had sought out that silent figure, stood at the end of the bed or stretched out on the rug or draped, half-asleep in the uncomfortable chair by Arthur's window, all ridiculously long limbs and dark hair sticking up all over the place and he had somehow felt at peace.

But despite all that, Arthur thinks, what had happened on day three of the fever -- well, it must have been something Gaius had given him; there was no other explanation for it, no other valid reason why Arthur would have smiled up at Merlin, blinked twice and said, without preamble, "I like you, Merlin."

Arthur remembers that even at the time something inside him was muttering _no_ and _shut up_ and _oh god, if your father is in here..._ but something bigger than that had protested loudly with a "I _really_ like you, Merlin."

Merlin had just rolled his eyes and grinned a little. "Okay, Arthur. Now go back to sleep."

"Merlin!" Arthur had demanded. His limbs were heavy and sort of... fuzzy around the edges. "I am your future King and you will-- you will listen to me when I tell you-- what did I tell you?"

"That you liked me."

"I did? I did. I do! You're alright. With your-- _face_." He waved a hand in what he had felt was a good illustration of his point.

"My face." Merlin had looked a little baffled.

"Yes."

"What about my face?"

"It's... nice. In a nice place. On your neck." Arthur's internal monologue had admitted defeat with one final _well fine then, do what you want, see if I care_.

"On my neck?"

"Mhmm. Your neck. A good-- neck."

Another grin. "A good neck. Excellent. I'll be sure to pass that on to any future employers who may want to hire me after you fire me for not listening. Now actually go to sleep, sire, or Gaius will have my head. And that would probably do some damage to my otherwise good neck."

"A fine neck." Arthur had mumbled, closing his eyes to bizarre visions of unicorns and fields of golden wheat and still, smooth, glassy lakes and promptly forgotten all about it until five days after the fever had broken, and he was up and moving about a little, he had cut himself shaving, angled his throat to dab at the blood and suddenly -- something about the taut skin across his adam's apple, the lean sinew and muscles reflected in the glass -- with a horrible, awful, hot flush of shame it had all flooded back to him.

* * *

He has never mentioned it, of course, but recently he has noticed things about Merlin -- noticed that he's even more impertinent than ever, that he calls Arthur "Arthur", and never "sire", unless it's in that tone of voice that Arthur suspects is mocking but can't bring up because otherwise he might actually be forced to banish him. And, even worse, he has been doing things that Arthur is almost convinced are designed to draw attention to his neck -- stretching like a cat so the sunshine dances over the pale skin of his throat, scratching at a day's worth of stubble, rubbing the back of his neck, fiddling with that damn neckerchief. Sometimes all Arthur needs to see is a flash of red across the courtyard and he is utterly distracted for the rest of the morning. It is getting ridiculous.

And now the damn boy is stood in front of him, as bold as brass, buttoning up Arthur's jacket and dishing out a steady stream of brazen cheek and all Arthur can think to say, instead of _get out_ or _you're fired_ or _you're banished_ , is "Why do you always wear that _thing_ around your neck?"

Merlin has the gall to look baffled. "This?" he says, plucking at the knot. "My mother gave it to me. I like red."

"It's scruffy." Arthur says.

"It's jaunty." Merlin counters.

"You never take it off," Arthur says, wrinkling his nose in disgust, "It probably _smells_."

Merlin's face cracks into a smile. "In case you hadn't noticed, _sire_ ," -- there it was again! -- "I actually do all your laundry. Meaning I do know how to, you know, wash clothes."

"Huh." Arthur grunts.

"Look," Merlin says, untying it with one hand, "it brightens things up."

"Merlin, don't even think about putting that thing anywhere _near_ \--"

Merlin ignores him and deftly wraps it around Arthur's neck, knotting it carefully, his knuckles coming to rest against Arthur's chest. "There. It suits you."

Arthur doesn't respond, mostly because he can't, because his brain refuses to think about anything other than the long, lean expanse of skin Merlin has just revealed; the delicate angles of his adam's apple, the shadow beneath his chin, the smooth lines flowing down to his sharp collarbone.

Merlin doesn't remove his hand. "Um... Arthur?" He swallows hard, and suddenly, Arthur is undone, giddy, delirious, and it is ridiculous that this boy, this insolent, infuriating, fool of a boy, could make him feel this way just by flashing a bit of _neck_ \-- but yet he has, and it is _wonderful_. Arthur can't help but laugh at himself, and he lifts a hand, wonderingly, to run two fingers from just below Merlin's ear, over his throat, down to the centre of his chest.

"I should have you banished," he murmurs, flicking his eyes up to Merlin's face to see the grin he somehow knows will be there. And he leans forward, without even really knowing what he's doing, and plants a kiss just above his fingertips, into the hollow of Merlin's throat.

He hears the hitch in Merlin's breath as well as feeling it beneath his lips. "Maybe--" Merlin starts, clutching at Arthur's shirt and tilting his head back, "maybe I'll stop wearing it."

Arthur's kisses work their way upwards to Merlin's chin, sweeping towards his mouth. "Your future King demands it."

And this time, Arthur thinks, it sounds less like mockery and more like adoration when Merlin replies: "Yes, _sire_."


End file.
